Death of a saviour
by joshthenerd
Summary: An interpretation of Jesus' final hours


How did Jesus die?

1

Gethsemane

The clear, chilling air cuts deep refreshing mouthfuls into the huddled group. Gentle snoring drifts throughout the exhausted assembly, their ruffled attire becoming damp on the dew ridden grass they rest gratefully upon. Their peaceful faces shielded from the crystal shine of the moon by the overhanging olive trees, their fruit softly swaying in the whispering breeze in unison with the bedraggled clothes of the fatigued party.

The clear night sky, a dark murky emptiness broken by intermittent spots of illuminated fissures in the dense expanse of space. The luminous moon casting long sloping shadows along the floor below. An unsettlingly cloudless sky; a vast emptiness with no bird flight on this abandoned night. As though all natural creation, the twittering birds to the florid plant life, is waiting.

Away from the small collection of souls a lone man in his thirties crouches desperately. His slim body huddled in exasperation; his eyes clenched shut in intense concentration. His dry mouth mumbling utterances, barely audible in the eerily silent garden. His calloused hands clasped together as he prays fervently;

"Father, if it can happen, please take this cup of suffering away from me. But what you want is important, not me." He cries out silently.

Finally satisfied he slowly eases himself to his feet, dusting off his shabby clothes as he rises with tears brimming behind his dark eyes.

The man steadily moves towards the pack near him, hoping they are still awake as he had earlier requested. As he walks towards his friends, occasionally stumbling on the rough unsteady floor, his face clearly displays his anguish. His tanned face crumpled and his eyes narrowed; his normally cool, friendly exterior changed into a fearful, tortured face and twitching hands. Hands that have done so much, helped so many, he knows time his time is ending soon, at least for now. His prospects don't appeal to him, although his affection and commitments tell him it's the only way, resigned he moves towards his group of friends.

Stumbling into the clearing where his friends reside, he realises they've all fell asleep, angered he wakes them roughly, fear passing over to resentment. His disappointment, however, fades the moment they awake and he sees the shame in their eyes, his compassion overwhelms him once again. Knowing they will never, could never, love him to the extent he feels for them hurts him deeply, but still he is grateful for any compassion or affection shown to him by anyone, rich or poor, wise or foolish. When they are, finally, all awake the man turns to one of the crowd, the dominant character, and scolds him gently, but a hint of anger still dwells behind his gentle voice,

"Peter, can't you stay awake for me? Not even for one hour?" he asks, then, noticing the embarrassment and guilt on his friends face, adds, "Pray that you will not fall into temptation, ask to stay awake, for my sake. Please. Your spirit is willing but your body is weak, I understand."

Once again, the man heads away from them, noticing that, for the majority of the huddle he just left, their eyes are already becoming bleary, he stumbles again to his private area, his preoccupation leading to frequent stumbling. Reaching his destination the man collapses in a crumpled heap moaning and grumbling in prayer,

"If this cup cannot be taken away I drink it, your will be done", he prays doggedly.

He continues to pray for hours. Great drops of sweat, mingled with blood from swollen capillaries in his disgruntled distress, splash violently on the stones and grass below him. Splatterings of bloody sweat soon fill the ground around him, dirtying his already-frayed clothes. Eventually the man again lifts himself gradually to his beaten feet, his skin feeling unnaturally sensitive from his ordeal.

Stumbling into the clearing for the second time he again realises his friends have rested from their exhaustion. He shakes them awake gently, one by one. Going round in the circle: first Simon-Peter, then John, James, Andrew, Philip, Matthew, then Nathaniel. Following that Judas, Thomas, James son of Alpheus and finally Simon the Zealot. Once they were awake and assembled he spoke to them, "soon you can rest, but the time has come. What I spoke about, the Son of Man is to be betrayed into the hands of sinners. Look! Here comes my betrayer now."


End file.
